


maybe it's the thought of not being so alone

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (but not the way you think), Angst, Blackhawks kink meme fill, Closeted Character, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Phone sex operator Patrick Kane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Hey, this is Pat. Sorry, hang on, I—” the voice on the other end says. Something crashes down and Jon hears a string of curses—he is certain this isn’t professional behaviour but at least it helps unknot the tightness in his chest until he breathes easier. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 24
Kudos: 178
Collections: Hockey RPF





	maybe it's the thought of not being so alone

**Author's Note:**

> For [this gethawksdeep prompt:](https://gethawksdeep.tumblr.com/post/190128458073/patrick-kanejonathan-toews-sex-work-au-patrick) Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews, sex work AU, Patrick is a sex phone operator and Jonathan is deeply closeted (he can be a hockey player or something else) and this contact is the only gay experience he'll allow himself.
> 
> Title was taken from Hobo Johnson's _Peach Scone_

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Jonny hasn’t felt this nervous in years—not since their last Cup finale, rookie camp, the combine. His fingers tremble holding his phone, and his stomach clenches when he finally hits the _call _button.

A tinny pre-recorded voice filters in through the speaker. “_Hello, welcome to [agency name] phone services. Please press 1 for a specific request, 2 for a female contact or 3 for a male contact_.”

He’s got the hotline’s website pulled up in an incognito window. Pictures of the employees fill the screen—or at least, their choice of guys do.

Some of them are labelled straight, others as gay or nothing. Jon’s aware that maybe there are guys who want to indulge in their gay-for-pay fantasies, but if he’s going to be doing this only once, he wants something else.

He pushes 1 and gets redirected to a new menu.

“_Please select your choice now. Please press 1 for Jimmy. Press 2 for Alexander. Press 3 for Pat. Pre—”_

Jonny inhales as he sits back on his bed, wiping his clammy palm on the sheets. He has stripped down to his underwear, his heart is racing, and although he’s double-checked the locks both to his front door and bedroom, he can’t shake the fear that someone is going to walk in.

Getting obliterated in round 1 of the playoffs has him more despondent than he has been in years, though. If he’s going to go through with this, it needs to be today. Use his own momentary weakness, his own brokenness, his—

“Hey, this is Pat. Sorry, hang on, I—” the voice on the other end says. Something crashes down and Jon hears a string of curses—he is certain this isn’t professional behaviour but at least it helps unknot the tightness in his chest until he breathes easier. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Well, this isn’t what I expected,” Jonny deadpans. “Should I call back later?”

“No, hang on, I swear I’m usually more professional than this.” Pat’s voice is smooth, a rolling American accent Jon can’t place but thinks sounds pleasant. Pat is also chuckling into the receiver, like he’s laughing at himself, or maybe Jonny’s chirp. “How should I call you?”

And—he’s thought about this question, at least. “Jonny,” he says. He figures that Pat will assume it’s spelled ‘Johnny’—and the name is common enough that he could be using it as a pseudonym anyway. Most of all, he doesn’t want to spend this one experience he’ll grant himself pretending to be someone else—that’s the _point_, that for once he _isn’t_.

“Well, Jonny, I’ll get you a refund for the first minute.”

Jonny forgot about that—the money. “Oh, no, that’s okay.”

“Mm, so you’ve got money?” Pat drawls. “A rich man… I like that, that’s _sexy_.” Again, he doesn’t sound too serious—and Jonny can’t help but think how different this is from how he’d imagined. In his mind, he built an elaborate fantasy; he was going to ask the guy to pretend to be his boyfriend, fall into clichéd romcom dialogue, or maybe something like he’s heard between the guys on the team and the WAGs, before moving on to something less PG.

Pat pulls him right out of his thoughts, and this, Jonny thinks, is part of why he wanted to do this, has _craved_ this—the back-and-forth and unpredictability of someone else.

“Of course you do.” Jonny doesn’t force out his laughter—it comes naturally and takes him by surprise.

“So, what do _you_ like?”

And there it is, the million-dollar question. He could say, _I don’t know_. He could be honest and say _I’ve never been with a man before_.

Instead he takes a deep breath and goes for it. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone—and I’m too busy for a relationship, so I was wondering if you could talk to me like we were?” He still sticks to the truth but fumbles a few words, then makes a conscious effort to sound animated and ends up sounding more stilted than ever, but Pat doesn’t seem to care.

“So like, do you want to talk about groceries or is it more of a long-distance phone sex thing?”

“Well,” Jonny shrugs and then realises Pat can’t see him, rolling his eyes at himself. “I did call a phone sex operator, didn’t I?”

“Sure you did,” Pat murmurs. “Just wanted to make sure, people enjoy all kinds of things.”

“Is that carefully phrased judgement against people getting off to buying vegetables?” Jonny snorts. He’s not sure where the easy chirping comes from—maybe it’s because most guys he talks to are hockey players, or his nerves getting in the way, or being unable to see Pat. At least, not beyond the picture still facing him, strong muscles and wide shoulders and a few strands of curly hair entering the frame at the nape of Pat’s neck. Full lips that Jon’s thought about sliding his dick between more than once. The ad with Pat’s picture is what lured Jonny in in the first place, anyway.

“… some shit that I hear every day, man. Are you still listening?”

“Yes,” Jonny says reflexively. Pat’s silence is damning. “Sorry, I got distracted, sorry.”

“By what?” Pat asks. “Like, you’re paying to talk to me, man.”

“Yeah, sorry. I was looking at your picture on the website?” He’s more glad than ever now that Pat can’t see him or the flush creeping up the back of his neck. “You look good.”

“Yeah?” Pat asks. Jonny can tell he slips back into his role, his voice dropping back into the smooth husk of earlier. “Well, lucky for you that I’ve been waiting for you to call, babe.”

Jonny’s heart stutters in his chest at the endearment and he squeezes his leg, a reminder to himself to enjoy this while it lasts, a reminder that this is actually happening. “Ah, and what does you waiting for me look like?”

“Like those black boxer briefs from the picture,” Pat murmurs. “Like me stroking myself thinking about your voice. You sound so good, would’a come thinking about it if you _hadn’t_ called.”

“God,” Jonny chokes out, dick swelling in his underwear. “Go on.”

“Fuck, yeah, I’m hard for you already.” Pat ends the sentence on a quiet moan and Jonny can imagine the scene perfectly—Pat squeezing his dick, spreading his legs a little more. “Don’t wanna shoot yet, though.”

“No?” Jon crawls onto the bed, settling against the headboard with his legs spread, his hand resting over his erection.

“Wanna get you off first. Are you hard yet, baby?”

“Getting there,” Jonny confesses, trailing his fingers over the bulge in his underwear. “Wish you were here with me, sucking my dick.” He knows he’s horrifically honest, with Pat and with himself, but he can’t stop himself now.

“Mm yeah.” Jonny can almost hear Pat lick his lips. “Wanna crawl between your legs, rub my stubble all over your thighs until your skin’s red, mark you up like that.”

Jonny runs his fingernails over his legs, tracing a path from his knee to his groin, wondering what Pat’s scruff would feel like against the sensitive skin there. He shivers and suppresses a groan, supplying, “You should give me hickeys too.”

“Yeah, lemme mark you up real good. Get everyone to see you’re _mine_.” Pat’s voice drops toward the end of the sentence and Jon’s dick twitches. He shivers when he imagines walking into the locker room tomorrow, covered in bite-marks. Pat has him rock-hard already and he is trying not to move too fast; he wants this to last, but Pat instinctively seeks out all his buttons.

“Yeah,” Jonny agrees. “Fuck, what next?”

“What do _you_ wanna do?” He thinks Pat might be smirking—and he _likes_ that.

“I wanna fuck you.” And he does, can’t stop thinking about it—maybe because it’s closest to what he has done, with girls—he wants to know what it would be like with a guy. That strong body laid out under him, Pat talking dirty like this until Jonny fucks the smirk from his lips, “Wanna hear you beg for my cock.”

“Oh shit, Jonny,” Pat moans quietly. “You sound really fucking hot, did you know that? Has anyone ever said that?” And no one has—but Jonny’s also never had phone sex before. “Just—hang on.” Then, more rustling. Jonny’s not sure what Pat is doing until he comes back and says, “Had to grab lube.”

“Like, actually?” Jonny asks. The fine line between pretence and reality that they’ve been treading and crossing all conversation tips over again. Jon knows that Pat is sexy, but Pat can’t know what _Jonny_ looks like, only really knows his voice. Or maybe that doesn’t matter, maybe that is part of the game they’re playing. Maybe Pat’s just a pro, leaning into Jonny’s request.

“Yeah,” Pat gets back to him with breathless laughter—probably from hanging over the side of his bed, rummaging around in the bedside table, clunky noises that Jonny could hear. “Yeah, man, _actually_. ‘s been a while too.”

Jonny swallows, his mouth dry. “Fuck, okay. Get your fingers slick, then,” he dictates. “Start on your back.”

“You wanna gaze deep into my eyes as you fuck me?” Pat teases.

Jonny doesn’t care if he’s a sap. “Shit, yeah, and I wanna see how hard your cock is.” He closes his eyes and squeezes himself one last time before pulling his boxers down and letting his dick slap against his belly, the heat there building hot and heavy now. This is what he’s wanted. This is what he’s thought about for _years_, since figuring out he didn’t really _want_ girls the way other guys wanted them, two years into his NHL career and dead set on not letting this hold him back, ever. “Want you to get yourself ready for me.”

“I am.” Pat groans and his sheets rustle. “I’ve got two fingers up my ass, and they feel so fucking good.”

Jonny stays quiet. Instead he listens to Pat’s soft moans, his deepening breaths, the catch of his breath when—Jonny thinks—he does something that feels particularly good like push up against his prostate. He’s still trying not to touch himself too much, already on edge and desperate to tip over, instead playing his fingers along the underside, from his balls up to his frenulum and back again.

“Fuck,” Pat curses into the phone. “I’m ready, Jonny—I’m, I wanna—” and none of this sounds fake anymore, Jonny’s stomach somersaulting as his precome pearls at the tip of his dick. “Talk to me, how do you wanna fuck me, babe?”

“Want you on your back,” he tells Pat, aware that his voice has become low, gruff. “Want you with your legs wrapped around my waist and me slowly pushing into you. See you, see how much you like me filling you up like that.”

“Kiss me?” Pat asks. “I’ll bet you’d want that.” And Jon does—thinks about it now, Pat’s spit-slick lips sliding over his own, the stubble burning against his cheeks, his chin. “And you’re gonna make me come on your dick, just your dick—I don’t, I need to hold my phone,” and another laugh filters through the phone, like Pat really _is_ Jon’s boyfriend right now and Jonny shuts his eyes and allows himself to believe it, “and I’ve got three fingers up my ass and if you keep talking I’m gonna come in about a minute flat.”

“Oh, God,” Jonny groans. He squeezes his fingers around the base of his dick and notices, for the first time, that he’s trembling—and he doesn’t think that that’s just the need to come. 

“I’m close,” Pat whimpers. “Wanna be squeezing around your dick, try to get your deeper, take you along with me.”

“You should.” Jonny licks his lips, swallows, begins to stroke his dick with loose fingers. There’s no way he can hold off any longer, not with the desperate sounds Patrick continues to make, the way he sounds like he’s panting right into the receiver, losing his mind. “You should let go, Pat. Come for me.”

He doesn’t know where all these words are coming from—he’s never said them before, but they fall from his lips easy as breathing. And maybe it’s that his past partners were all girls, and that this is different from everything else he’s ever done, and—

And they’re enough, because Pat is coming. Jonny knows that he is because he moans; the noise is feral and wild like Pat can’t help himself. Jonny knows because Pat tells him in the middle, wild and unhinged, “I’m coming, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

Jonny tightens his hold on his dick, although he’s pretty sure he could have come untouched had he wanted to. He listens to Pat as he tips over the edge and rides out his own orgasm, pleasure heady and heavy as it spreads through his limbs and settles there, leaving him tingling afterwards with his come dripping down his stomach, his chest.

“Holy shit,” he mutters into the receiver, still dazed.

“Yeah.” Pat sounds out of it too. “Fucking hell. If you ever need a career change—this is where it’s at.” 

Jon can’t help the laugh that jolts from him. “I’ll consider it.” Tries to picture himself as a phone sex operator, having to talk sexy to people—Pat clearly isn’t just flattering him because Jonny did just hear him come, but he’s pretty sure other people wouldn’t get this worked up about the things he’s got to say. Or maybe they would, but only because of his fame, which he is sure is not what Pat meant.

“And uh, Jonny? Feel free to call me any time. I had more fun with you than with most people who call in.”

And Jon knows that he can’t, that he _won’t_, but that doesn’t matter when he teases, “Well, since you’re asking, I just might.”

“Yeah, awesome.” Pat does sound sincere, and Jon’s stomach twists in on itself again. “And have a good day, Jonny.”

“Thanks. You too, Pat.”

With a sigh, he turns off his phone and laptop. He takes a shower and tries not to think too much about what he did, and least of all about the relaxed looseness of his shoulders or the thought that he’d like to do that again, because now he knows what is like, and still he knows that he _can’t_.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry! You have permission to come kill me [@tumblr](http://saucerfulofsecrets.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> (But also, this might not be the end after all...)


End file.
